


Revelation

by unknown20troper



Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknown20troper/pseuds/unknown20troper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melany Turner's forgotten past is uncovered when she becomes Norm the Genie's master. Meanwhile, Jorgen tries to get Norm back and the Pixies attempt yet another plot. Melany belongs to Decepti-Kitty, who gave me permission to use her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Ten Years Before

Melany regarded the figure that had spun out of the lava lamp. No, the genie that had spun out of the lava lamp. His teal blue tail made his species obvious and his Arabian appearance provided more than a few hints to it. Of course, she needed no hints to his species, since the warnings given by her godparent, Juandissimo, stated the fact quite clearly.

"Yeah, I'm the sexiest thing in the universe," said the genie, "but could you, master of mine, stop staring and start wishing." Then, he muttered, "Though I admit, being stared at is more fun than granting the idiotic wishes of humankind or being stuck in my lava lamp. Not much more, though."

"Yes, the typical genie problems," replied Melany in a scholarly, yet slightly sardonic tone. "How about I set you free from your prison with my last wish?"

"Sure," replied the genie, in a doubtful tone. "I'm Norm the Swinging Genie, and you've just got three – two – wishes!" He delivered the second sentence in a grandiose tone, which faltered around the word 'three' and regained strength on the word 'wishes.'

Melany smiled, her blue eyes sparkling with wonder.

"Juandissimo, I wish I had Da Rules," she whispered. The said book appeared in her hands in a POOF. She set it down on the sidewalk and started reading.

It wasn't one of the Top Ten Most Interesting Books in Existence – in her opinion, at least – though fairies and other magical creatures interested her. Yet, once she'd began reading it, it consumed her full focus until the last period on the last page, as most books tended to.

Melany smirked, glorying in the idea she'd came up with. "Norm, I wish that I knew which kids have fairy godparents!"

A list long enough to circle the Earth three times materialized in her hands as a GONG sounded. She gazed at the list, her eyes straining to take in the sheer enormity of the paper. Her smile faltered, changing into a frown.

"Uh, Norm, could you let up on the taking-wishes-literally?"

Norm rolled his eyes towards the clouds, sighing heavily. "Nah. It's what I do." He paused, frowning. "And hey, you could be lying about setting me free. It could all just be a dang trick, meant to make me submit to you and give you everything your little ten year-old heart – if you have one, that is – desires."

"Melany is an honest child, immundo genio," replied Juandissimo. "You, however, probably are not honest at all."

"Hey, there's no need to insult me in two languages, idiota féé," Norm snapped back.

"Norm, I will set you free," replied Melany, angry passion in her voice despite her efforts to suppress it. "After all, I have no reason not to. And well, from what I know about lamps and genies, the combination is not a pleasing one for the genie."

"True," replied Norm. "Not that anyone cares about what's pleasing for the genie."

Melany frowned, stamping her shoe-encased foot on the sidewalk. "I do." She paused. "I'll give you a look at the stuff that inhabits my mind, and see if you'll believe me then."

"And how'll you do that? Will we go on a tour of your almighty, pure ten year-old mind? Truth serum, perhaps? Analysis of your brainwaves, maybe?" scoffed Norm. "I'll pass."

"None of that," replied Melany, sighing. "I wish everything in my stories would become real."

Once again, the air reverberated with the sound of a GONG. Melany sighed, the sight of all her imaginary worlds leaving her with no words. Norm and Juandissimo gaped at the sheer unfamiliarity and familiarity of the worlds and universes created by the firing of neurons in Melany's brain and the snapping of Norm's fingers.

The layman's term for their feelings was, quite simply: Wow!

Wow! Three letters expressing the full extent of the human emotion known as amazement; One syllable conveying a beautiful feeling; one word, telling of an emotion worthy of being felt more often. Just wow…

Melany walked slowly past all her characters and places, greeting her protagonists and fixing hot glares on her antagonists. Some of them responded to what she said, whereas others just looked at her in obvious bewilderment.

"Thanks, Norm," replied Melany, her tone light and bright.

Norm smiled, and Melany couldn't help but wonder if he was reconsidering his opinion of her.

"So, what do you think?" she asked. "I desire to be an author when I grow up, but do you think I have a chance?"

The genie smirked. "Well, you certainly have a better chance than all those duds – I mean dudes – that wish for a sandwich first and to rule the world next."

Melany recognized that as his way of complimenting her, and smiled. "Once again, thanks, Norm!"

"The genie is only being this nice in order to trick you, mi amigo," said Juandissimo, butting in with godparental-protectiveness.

"And I suppose he's doing a good job," replied Melany in an acidic voice. "I know the risks and I'm willing to take them."

One of her demonic otters floated near her head and commented, "You created us? According to your mind, that is so, yet according to our religion, the Great Otter of the Ocean of the Above created us."

Melany groaned. "And I created your god, as well, just so you know." She paused. "And guys, you were supposed to get in a religious war in my next story, with the Fish People. One about whether the Great Otter gives you the right to eat them – or something like that anyway."

The otters ignored her correction, catching Juandissimo and Norm in shadowy bubbles.

"She claims to have created us all?" questioned a mage. "She is no wizard. She lacks the traditional wizard's robes and textbook, as well as the scent of magic."

Melany responded, voice tinged with fury at her creations for escaping the bonds of her mind and revolting. "Maybe I don't need your magic – which I created – to conjure up a whole world. Maybe the spells inherent in pure words are enough."

The wizard waved his wand, touching it to his robes, making it so Melany's clothes would say every word she has ever said on them. Melany smiled, actually considering that an improvement.

An elderly, yet somehow beautiful witch approached her, muttering about how useful female tears and young eyes were in some of the most powerful spells known to the inhabitants of her world.

Of course, at least some of Melany's good guys defended her, though others resented being hers and showed it. Wolves pounced onto her, genies gave her their memories of the slavery her stories forced them to endure and revolutionaries made her their next target.

She told herself to endure, admonishing herself every time her last wish tempted her, till she had to admit there was no other way.

"Norm, I'm sorry, but I wish that the results of my previous wish would disappear!"

So, in a GONG, all the rebellious creations of her mind disappeared from the material realm, and Norm funneled back into his confinement, one she could free him from but didn't. She sighed, sad to have lost him, longing for a second try, to do things right and set him free…


	2. Impossibilities

Love. Melany sighed. Not anything she knew about. Not even something she believed in. Yet, her publisher expected her to write a love story, filled with the said emotion, smut, and other stuff typical of such stories. People all over the world loved her stories, and also loved love – a familiar wording, she recalled - and love stories, so of course, the publisher thought a love story written by her would sell by the billions or trillions.

She doubted that. Oh, sure, it might, at first, but eventually her readership would realize that she was better at fantasy than romance, that she knew more about magic than love.

Melany pulled herself out of those thoughts, telling herself that she'd write about subjects that actually interested her when she reached her house, a mansion with an entire room or section purely devoted to books. A library, it could be called, though one didn't need a card to access it and she earned no money from loaning the books to others.

She traversed the streets of Dimmsdale, often pausing because of a strange nostalgia, one that worked without memories, apparently, since many of the places she was nostalgic about barely played a part in them. In fact, the faint stirrings, feelings, thoughts resembled ideas for stories more than possible real life events. Possible, she supposed, knowing how many story ideas roamed through her mind everyday, like animals searching for sustenance. Many of them found their place in a book, but some were discarded and left for dead. Others evolved, changing from the weak form they started in to something beautiful and brilliant. Some were thought of in her childhood, when none of her writing was enclosed in actual books.

She sighed, glad of the cascade of the ideas that even walking on the streets brought. Green grass, blue skies and gray sidewalks did not seem inspiring to the average person, yet quite a bit of her inspiration came in places that contained them. She turned a corner, heading for a garage sale in one of the poor areas of town. The wonderful thing about garage sales was the utter randomness of the items. Lawn chairs would stand beside toasters; books would be on top of record players; keychains and kid toys would be in the same bin; lamps and glass bowls would be near each other. Stores were not like that.

If one wanted a toy for their hypothetical child, they'd go to a toy store. Chairs would be at furniture stores, and lawn chairs might be in summer-themed places. Bookstores sold books, grouped by the alphabet and their genres.

A stench hit her as she entered the area. She had described many worse scents, but real life ones still bothered her, since no human could be as virtuous and self-sacrificing as any of their characters.

She focused on what she saw, though it wasn't any better. It was a palette of greens, browns and yellows, arranged into a disgusting, sad sight. The repulsiveness and the sadness of the home of the poor was not the colors' fault. She bet it would be worse without them, actually. Either way, she wished the poor could have something better, much better. Some of her childhood friends came from that area; had that measly amount of money.

She went off that dismal train of thought, telling herself that her interest in the garage sale probably would make at least one poor person richer.

The mobile homes and other dwellings of the poor all looked similar, and all were covered in dust and marked by signs of age. She sighed, heading for the sale, which she noticed immediately, due to its distinctiveness.

She surveyed it, looking for anything that could catch her attention. She sifted through, moving objects in order to see others better. Some of them interested her, some did not, but one was more compelling than all the rest.

It was lava lamp, a purple-pink lava lamp, glowing with its own light despite the absence of power sources. The "lava" fell and rose, never ceasing its motion. Sometimes it seemed almost sentient, despite the ridiculousness of that notion. She reached for it, then picked it up, rotating it in order to examine it better and in more ways than before.

The metallic bottom felt almost comfortable in her touch, and she knew that as metallic as it was, it wasn't made of that or plastic.

She told the man selling the various objects what her choice was, and paid for it, using what was an entire gold mine to him, and just one sliver of enormous fortune to her.

She carried the lamp home, wondering if she even needed one. Maybe this just was one of the ridiculous impulse purchases that rich people made, their wealth leading them to forget that buying random things does more harm than good.

Melany sighed, feeling sure that the lava lamp was different, though she doubted that any of the rooms of her dwelling lacked light sources. Perhaps she'd give it to someone as a birthday present… No, that did not sound like what she meant either.

What did she mean? Maybe lava lamps just were awesome, maybe all her bulbs ran out, maybe she wanted to base an interpretive dance on it or write and sing a song about the lamp. All those ideas, and she had no clue.

She fiddled with her golden heart-shaped earring, forcing the lamp to stay in only one hand. The lamp transferred to it easily, being a good shape and made of a great yet mysterious material.

She sighed in relief once she reached her house, opened her door and stepped inside. She sat down on her couch, relaxing and trying to make the stresses of the day evaporate. They didn't.

Melany found the nearest table and planted the lamp on it. It made the thumping sound that was almost inevitable when solids were put on other solids.

"Love," she said, the word coming out as a melancholy sigh. "Yeah, publisher, tell me to write about something I don't know about and don't believe in. That'll work splendidly, yes, I will, because apparently I'm so… brilliant and popular… Yeah, right. Even brilliant and popular people can and do fail." She paused, her sarcasm and bitterness now only expressed by the look on her face. "Just let me do what I'm good at. Don't ask me to write about that, which I've never had, never will and don't believe in."

"You are really lonely, ain't you, lady?"

Melany shot up with a start, bothered by the voice from nowhere that had more insight into her than any voice from nowhere should. A feminine screech escaped her, though she did not faint and wait for a man to catch her, since real life did not work like the Harlequin novels she did not read.

She tried to breathe deeply instead of sharply, attempting to regain control of her fear and confusion. "Who's there?" Despite her efforts at self-control, she whipped her head around as she asked the question, the movement shaking her earrings and ponytail. The shaking caused her to adjust the vibrant blue hairband that kept the ponytail in place.

She shifted her position, deciding to face where she thought the noise seemed to be coming from.

"Yeah, you are so alone," the voice said, half-sarcastically, yet seeming to look into her soul and evaluate what it, he, found there.

"Stupid work-related stress," Melany stammered, her voice lacking the confidence and surety of the voice. "Making me hear things…"

She wondered if it would make her see things, too, and hoped not.

"Work-related stress…" the voice echoed. "Oh, boy, I sure know a lot about that."

"Are you a psychologist from another planet?" Melany inquired, since she doubted that there were any other ways to know a lot about work-related stress and make one's voice infiltrate her home.

"That'd be better than what I am now," it, he, whatever responded. "Much better, though I'd need to learn some alien language and take psychology at an alien university or college." The voice sighed. "And no, not on Yuggotamia. Bodacecia would be awesome, since its dames are some of the best in the universe."

Melany wondered what kind of voice-from-nowhere would think about sex, if that were what it meant. Maybe it actually wanted the dames' hearts sacrificed to him, or to study the effect their sexuality had on earthquakes.

"Where are Yuggotamia and Bodaceccia?"

"In outer space."

"Are you from there?"

"Nope, but I fell from the sky and yes, it hurt."

"What are you?"

"Not a human, not a fairy, not an alien, not a kitten, not just a sexy voice…"

"I said 'what are you?' not 'what aren't you?'"

"Rub the lamp. That's the only way you'll get the answer."

Melany did so, her curiosity and the draw of a mystery making it impossible not to. Blue smoke exited the lamp, making her wonder if someone was burning incense in it, or it just short-circuited it. The smoke covered a form, slowly dissipating until she saw something that, as far as she knew, was impossible, very much so.


End file.
